


A Bath

by CommonEvilMastermind



Series: The Chronicles of the Elf and the Egg [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bath, Calm Before The Storm, Caring, Comfort, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Shameless Smut, fix-it AU, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:52:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5204846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonEvilMastermind/pseuds/CommonEvilMastermind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas draws the Inquisitor a bath and welcomes her home after her return from a dangerous mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bath

**Author's Note:**

> Solas got his shit together and fessed up to being Fen’Harel and the Inquisitor dealt with it.  
> This isn’t that story.  
> This is the story of some of the smut we all wanted, where they were together for a little bit and everything was all right. Written as an AU because damn it, I want to honor Solas’ wishes to not sleep with the Inquisitor under false pretenses. Stupid egg.  
> So she knows he's Fen'Harel and is okay with it. I promise I'll write up that conversation as soon as I figure out how the hell it could possibly go.
> 
> Most of the elvish is understandable via the surrounding context. Full translations (via Project Elvhen, bless his socks) are provided below.

Solas was waiting.

Through the giant windows, the sun slid behind the horizon. The colors burned. They flared red and orange-pink before fading into the velvet darkness of the mountain. Fire crackled in the hearth, a cheerful compliment to the small heating-glyphs tucked around the room. It was difficult to keep the Inquisitor’s chambers warm, as large and drafty as they were.

Ellara’s chambers. His chambers. Their chambers.

It was still taking some getting used to. Everything else was the same – Dorian’s nagging and Varric’s tales, Vivienne’s elitism and Bull’s surprising intelligence. Except now, when Ellara cursed by The Dread Wolf, she would flash a knowing grin at him.

And most nights he slept by her side in the plushness of her chambers. Their chambers.

In theory.

In practice, Solas was waiting. Ellara had returned from the Western Approach earlier that day and popped into the library for a kiss and a breathless, “Tonight?” before being swept away by her hoard of advisors and duties. Perhaps she had meant meeting in the Fade. He hoped it meant time to themselves, in her chambers – their chambers – and had planned accordingly.

The moon rose. Solas was waiting.

It was difficult, more so than it had ever been in Elvhenan. There, every moment was just the same as the last. In this quickling world, time mattered. The seconds fell as sand through his fingers, precious and fleeting. Counting down to their confrontation with Corypheus, when everything would change.

Solas was not good at waiting.

He slipped downstairs. Exploration proved that the war room was dark and deserted. Ambassador Montilyet’s office was likewise empty. Hunting now, Solas closed his eyes and focused on the soft flicker of power that lingered just on the edge of his senses, like a song near-inaudible. That way.

He prowled through the Great Hall and down the steps to the Undercroft, which was most assuredly not sleeping. Metal clanged against metal, then there was the hiss of steam and sharp, excited voices.

Then something exploded.

Solas felt the shockwave as he hurtled down the steps, down to the two forms strewn on the hard stone floor. Between them, a blackened bucket smoked. Heart in his mouth, Solas sprinted to the larger figure with the messy brown hair. She was moving before he fell to his knees at her side.

“Ow,” The Inquisitor observed mildly. “Oh! Hello, vhenan.”

“That was incredible!” The other figure turned out to be Dagna. She had already climbed to her feet and was peering into the bucket with a wild grin. “I didn’t think the rune could channel that much power!”

“It couldn’t,” Ellara pointed out wryly, sitting up on her elbows. “You’ll note it exploded.”

“Maybe,” the dwarf said, bouncing on her toes. “Or maybe we just tried to cool it off too quickly. If we used another method-“

“Are you well?” Solas asked Ellara, unsure if he was relieved or furious.

“Perfectly perfect.” She patted his arm absently, then paused and felt his biceps in appreciation. “I was just going up to join you for lunch – no, dinner.”

“It is not long before midnight,” Solas told her sternly.

She looked at him, astonished. “Really? No. I was in the war room until nine, then I came down to give Dagna a rune schematic and we started working - Dagna, how long have we been down here?”

“Dunno!” The dwarf called cheerfully from where she was buried in a bench. “More than an hour, less than a day. Longer than that and Herritt starts to make snide remarks. It can’t be that late, or Solas would have come to fetch you – oh. Hello, Solas.”

“Dagna,” he said calmly, “I am taking the Inquisitor to bed.” He lifted Ellara into his arms, ignoring her squawk of protest.

“Yes boss, right boss!” the dwarf agreed.

“I’m the boss!” Ellara shouted as he swept away. “Dagna, go to bed! Don’t you dare work without me!”

“What’s that, didn’t hear you!” The dwarf called cheerfully. “Good night, Inquisitor!”

Ellara muttered darkly as he carried her up the stairs. “Insolence. Insolence everywhere. I can walk, you know.” But she leaned against his chest, curling in close.

“I am well aware,” Solas agreed. She was far too light in his arms, the lines of her face too sharp. “This seemed to be the most effective way to get you out of the Undercroft.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I meant to-“

He stopped in the middle of the Great Hall and kissed the words from her lips. How many decades had he spent in worlds of his own, dancing with spirits, exploring the Fade? How much time had he wasted, in his day? It was hypocritical of him to mourn the loss of a few hours, hours she had spent in joy.

And yet he did.

He continued carrying her up to their rooms, letting her open all the doors in their way. She giggled as he maneuvered her through, careful not to hit her head on any doorframes. Then, finally, they were together in their rooms.

“Oh!” Ellara smiled as she saw what he had prepared. “You did all this?” There was a dinner laid out next to the hearth – nuts and cheeses, bread and honey, small fruits. Hearty food, meant to be eaten with one’s fingers, meant to restore strength. The bed was made and freshly turned down, clean sheets smelling of lavender. He had hung tiny mage-lights in the air where they bobbed and glimmered like stars. “I should have come up earlier.”

“Or I come down,” he agreed, setting her down. “Though perhaps then I could not have stolen you away in such a dramatic fashion.”

“You, sweeping me through the Great Hall? Carrying me up to do blight knows what to me? The guests would have fits.” Ellara leaned against him, burying her face in his clavicle. “Let’s do it.”

He pulled away slightly to trace the line of her smile, to savor the amber sweetness in her eyes. Not a Herald, here. Not an Inquisitor. Not even Lavellan – here she was Ellara, free of masks. Here she could let her guard down and be tired or grumpy or sweet. She was so real that it sent a dagger to his gut and he leaned down to kiss his fears from her face.

She smiled under his lips, letting him pepper her with soft kisses – cheeks and brow and nose and the gentlest of butterfly touches on her closed eyelids.

“Bed?” Ellara suggested hopefully.

Solas pulled away and gave her a stern look. “Have you washed since your return?”

“Ye… no,” Ellara confessed.

“And where were you wandering this time?”

“The Western Approach,” she sighed.

“Do you relish the idea of sand in the bed again?”

“Hush, yes. You made your point.” She pulled away from his arms with a smile. “Is the bath – of course it is.” Of course it was. He had filled it hours before. Small runes studded the side of the overlarge tub, keeping the water warm. Two drops from a tiny bottle and it smelled sweetly of Crystal Grace.

Ellara mock-scowled at him. “You spoil me,” she accused.

“I do no such thing,” he corrected, batting away her hands and starting to undo the fastenings of her shirt. “You are a woman occupied with trying to save the world. I am a merely attempting to lessen that burden.”

“So you spoil me but I deserve it?”

“If you like.”

She sighed as he pulled the tunic off of her shoulders, leaving her chest bare except for a thin silver chain. From it hung a wolf’s tooth. He couldn’t help but touch her, folding her into him, letting his hands wander over her skin. She was warm silk over coiled steel, muscles tight. The tips of his fingers ran the faint ridges of too many scars, taking count. Had any been added to their number while she was away?

“Solas, it’s cold,” she complained into his shoulder, fully aware of what he was doing. He sighed but continued undoing the laces of her trousers. He would have plenty of time to take inventory later, now that she was home again.

Trousers loosened, he sat her on a chair by the fire and knelt to undo her leg wraps. They were in a different style than she had used previously, combining ancient Elvhen weave with Quinari knot work technique. The hope was they would work together to invigorate and protect. Mostly they just got tangled.

“How did you achieve this mess?” he wondered, tracing a length of linen over and under as it twisted around itself.

“Carefully?” she smiled, loving the way his strong, clever hands felt running across her skin.

“And how did you imagine getting yourself free of it?” He tugged on a length, which refused to come free, and attempted another with equal success.

“I knew by then I’d have a clever wolf to help wind my way out of my clothing,” Ellara teased.

Solas lifted an eyebrow. “Meaning you have been wearing these same leg wraps since you left?”

She grinned unrepentantly. “I admit nothing.”

“Then I feel no qualms at all doing this.” He focused on the song that was always just past hearing, pulling the melody through the air until only the very tip of his index finger glowed with one warm note. He carefully – so carefully – dragged it down the length of her leg. The thin linen blackened and burned under his touch.

“Solas!” she laughed, protesting, but was wise enough not to pull her leg away. The wrappings fell from around her calf with ease and he was just as quick to deal with the other one.

“It was an effective solution to the problem,” he said mildly.

“It was trouble,” she countered. “You are trouble.”

“As I have informed you many times.” He grinned at her, flashing his teeth. “And yet you do not turn away.”

“Hey, I’m trouble too!” she protested, wiggling out of her trousers. “Verric tells me every day. And Dorian. And Josephine. And-“

He silenced her with a kiss, leaning into the chair. She lifted herself up slightly so he could pull the trousers and smallclothes from her long legs, now freed. She went to deepen the kiss but he pulled away, saying lowly in her ear, “We are indeed well met, vhenan.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs about his hips, pulling him in, on top of her. She kissed his neck, his jawbone, moving up to nip softly at the line of his ear while her hand slid over his scalp. He wrapped his arms around her and stood, desire building from the smoothness of her skin, the warmth of her bare body wrapped around him, the way her tongue was-

Solas dropped her in the bath.

Ellara surfaced, sputtering and laughing and splashing. He wrapped her in a barrier, the water dripping off the magical surface and on to the stone floor. She countered it with a dispel, but did not try to soak him again. She was laughing too hard.

“I missed you,” she confessed, fishing for the soap. He knelt by the tub and rolled up his sleeves with a smile.

“And I, you.” He took the soap from the dish where she had failed to find it and worked it to a lather between his hands. He ran them over the smooth lines of her back, taking careful count of the scars he found there. “Skyhold is far too peaceful in your absence. One is always waiting for the chaos to begin.”

“Hmm, you’re hilarious.” Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into his touch.

“So I have been told,” he informed her seriously. He moved on to her arms, taking time to gently wash and catalogue every inch of her, every fingertip and scar. She was a vision he pressed into his memory for the long dark ahead. “How went the journey?”

“We nearly got eaten by a high dragon,” she told him. His fingers tensed. “Oh not _actually_ ,” she corrected. “We saw her from a distance though. She was huge and absolutely terrifying. An abyssal high dragon. Bull nearly went mad with delight. He wanted to go fight it.”

“And yet common sense prevailed?” He assumed so, given the notable lack of burns, scarring, bite marks, or missing limbs.

“I wanted to not-die,” she confirmed. “And she was just so beautiful and grand. To destroy something like that, just to say we did – it would be like tearing down a mountain. Like something would be lost.”

“I applaud your reserve.” He ran his soapy hands over the line of her shoulder, the softness of her breast. She sighed with pleasure and curved into his touch. He allowed himself to circle her nipple with a thumb, earning him a small hum of delight. Then he deliberately moved on to her ribs, her abdomen, her sides. She murmured a faint disagreement but he soothed her until she lay back in the tub, relaxing against the warm marble.

He turned his attention then to her legs, wiping clear any traces of sand or dirt or travel. Ellara wiggled her toes at him and he followed the silent request, massaging the arch of her foot, soothing the rough calluses of her soles. Up then, up to her strong, smooth calf and its dusting of red-brown hairs, tracing up until he just brushed the insides of her thighs.

She caught her breath sharply and he eased back with a small smile, building a lather on his hands once more. He ran them up her leg, under the water, caressing the outsides of her thighs, the curve of her hips, sliding over her navel. She moved underneath him, cracking one eyelid but he remained undeterred, washing each inch of her skin without giving importance to one part or another.

She caught his wrist as he tried to take his hands from the warm, soapy water. “You missed a spot,” she murmured lazily.

“Did I?” he asked, eyebrow arching.

“Yes.” She drew his hand back down into the water, guiding it between her legs. “Right here.”

“Here?” he asked, playing the fool, running his fingers through the soft curls that capped her sex.

“Here.” She shifted underneath him positioning him right over her clit. It had already grown with her want.

“Ah,” he said, brushing a fingertip over the spot. She drew in a breath. “Forgive me.” He brushed it again, a soft, smooth rhythm, and she melted into the warmth of the water with a small gasp.

He leaned on the tub, smiling softly at how she floated beneath him, so open, so bright. She was such a vulnerable thing now, naked and wet and at ease and she trusted him, she _trusted him_ opened herself up to him as to no one else, their only contact through his fingertips as they gently rubbed her clit.

On the battlefield she was storm and fire and death incarnate. Diplomacy and training had turned her tongue a silver dagger, her every look granting favors and sowing triumph. Many called her divine already, and she sealed the sky together with fire and will.

Yet it was in the moments such as these, when all other things fell away, that Solas knew her as a holy creature. Something real. Something bright.

She gasped under his fingers now - slow, soft moans that went to the core of his being. Her amber eyes flew open, settled on his smile, and he leaned over her for a warm, wet kiss. She moved as if to get up, pulled away from his touch. He stood – but then her hands were on his waist and she mouthed his length through his trousers and his knees nearly buckled with the heat of it.

He steadied himself, hands on her wet hair, as she tugged his trousers down to his thighs and freed his cock. She grinned up at him wickedly as she kissed him lightly on the tip and he swore, hands clutching her hair as she began to lap at him. Her hand were wet and warm on his sack, on his length and his breath stuttered as she took him in her mouth. She teased his head with her clever tongue, one hand pumping along his shaft and he drew in shaky breaths so as not to get swept away in the wet heat of her ministrations.

She drew back with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes, just as his legs began to tremble. _“Mar rodhe ir’on,”_ she said in a low, wicked tone. Hearing his tongue – their tongue – on her lips, praising his taste, was his undoing. He scooped her from the bath with a low growl and moved towards the bed – only to forget that his trousers were around his knees. He staggered and fell, rolling on the flagstones to protect the wet, naked, laughing woman in his arms.

“Come on,” she laughed, disentangling herself from him and dashing towards the bed. He cursed, kicked his trousers off, and chased her, falling into her at the last moment and carrying them both forward into the massive embrace of soft mattress and silken sheets.

She twisted underneath him, fighting to peel his shirts off while he tried to claim her lips in a kiss. Her fingers tickled his sides and he pulled back instinctively, shouting with laughter. She fought his shirts off of his arms until they were both finally, wonderfully bare. He growled and pounced, capturing her wrists and pinning them over her head, keeping her down with his weight.

She kissed him, wild and bright, and he sunk into her, tasting her laughter as she wrapped her legs around him. The tip of his cock brushed her opening, wet from water and from need, and she wiggled unhelpfully, trying to urge him within. He held both of her wrists down with one hand and reached between them with the other, slipping, positioning until he sank in and she gasped into his mouth.

He meant to take her slowly, sinking in inch by inch, feeling her writhe as she asked for more but she had other ideas. She arched up to meet him, legs hooking behind his thighs and he shouted as they joined in a perfect, sliding rush. She was everything underneath him and she pulled her hands free to hold closer, to leverage herself as he rocked inside her.

Her words were fire and lightning against his skin – broken Common, broken Elvish, how much she had missed him, how good he felt inside her, how big he was, how hard he was, breathing his name again and again like a prayer. _Solas, Solas, oh!_ And in between her gasps and breaths he cried her name, _Ellara! Ellara!_

It was too much, too much, too fast and he could feel his orgasm building in the distance. He stopped and pulled and rolled until she was on top of him, laughing at the sudden change. He got no reprieve from the pace she set, hips rolling, moving against him as if he was the only thing in the world. He tried to slip a hand between them, run his fingers over her clit, but she battered them away.

“ _Vhenan,_ ” he pleaded, trying to warn her. “ _Ar-“_

_“Rosa’da’din in’em,”_ she smiled. Then, in her own tongue, “Come inside me.”

There was nothing he could do but obey. His climax crashed over him like an ocean wave, sweeping through his body and pooling at his center where he spent his release into his beloved. She rode him through it, her rhythm taking every last bit of what he had to offer and leaning down to kiss his lips, now soft and compliant.

“I love making you come,” she murmured. She shifted and gasped as his softening length fell out of her. He pulled her down and held her tightly in his arms, burying his face in her hair as he tried to collect himself.

“You are marvelous,” Solas sighed. “And you will be the death of me.”

“Die later, hahren,” Ellara grinned at his growl of protest. “I still want to come. Do you want to help, or should I do it myself?”

“Quickling child,” he grumbled, knocking away her hands. “Someday I will bind you to this bed and have you for hours and hours. You will be screaming in need before I bring you to your climax. And then I will do it _again._ ”

“Yes, okay, that sounds lovely.” Ellara gasped as he moved his hand between her thighs, slipping his fingers into the mess of slick and come he found. He twitched his hand a few times, making her curse, before slipping out again and rearranging her the way he wanted – both of them sitting up against the pillows, her back against his chest, her legs sprawled out on top of his own. He held her this way, one hand tracing the curves of her abdomen, her slight breasts, one hand sliding once more between her legs.

He had her trapped. She couldn’t move, couldn’t kiss him, couldn’t nip or bite, could only watch as his fingers slipped in and out of her body, well slicked by his come. He curled his fingers, beckoning, right against the sweet spot inside her and she shook, crying out in delight in his arms. His free hand wandered past her navel to rub gently at her clit and she yelped, his name mixing in with a scream, “ _Solas!”_

He was thankful for the thick stone walls of Skyhold, and not for the first time.

She writhed against him, tensing, and he mouthed in her ear, “ _Ha’mi’in. Lasa em tua rosas’da’din._ ” She did not obey, every line tight, fighting with want and need. He repeated with a low murmur in her own language. “Relax. Let me make you come.”

And she softened like a miracle in his arms with one shuddering breath. His fingers beckoned and whirled and he ran his tongue over the lobe of her ear and _sucked._

She stilled beneath him with a whimper, like the calm before the storm, and he kept the rhythm going and his fingers started to cramp-

And she came.

His name on her lips, she came, twisting and arcing against him, shuddering with the force of her orgasm. She grabbed onto his arm like a life raft and clung, pressing sobbing moans into his bicep as he gently worked her through the climax. Eventually she batted his hand away from her clit, shuddering with the aftershocks, and turned around to beg him for a kiss.

He eased his hand from inside her, eliciting another wonderful series of shudders, and held her close, trying to subtly wipe his hands on the already-despoiled linens. Her head was pressed to his chest – he could feel his heartbeat, feel her heartbeat, feel the two of them in perfect rhythm.

“I love making you come as well,” he confessed into her hair. She murmured, pleased, a sleepy smile stealing across her face. He took a moment to watch her there, the long length of them pressed together. Then he tugged the blankets over them both and waved the mage-lights out of existence.

They lay together in the velvet-black, safe and sound in each other’s arms. He pressed the moment into his memory, to give him light in the long dark ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> Mar rodhe ir’on. - I love how you taste.  
> Rosa’da’din in’em. - Come inside me.  
> Ha’mi’in. Lasa em tua rosas’da’din. - Relax. Let me make you come.
> 
> Love and thanks to the greatly perverse FenxShiral for the Elvhen.


End file.
